The Khajiit Thief
by infused-with-madness
Summary: A Khajiit decides to steal from Ulfric Stormcloak.


Dar'oshiir had spent the last three months preparing for this night. All those weeks memorising the shifts of the guards, all those hours practising to climb stone walls, all those months observing, planning, waiting. All of those precious seconds leading up to this moment. And now, he was finally ready to enact his plan. To pull off the greatest heist in the history of Skyrim.

Yes, this Khajiit was planning to steal from Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

A foolish plan, a reckless plan, a plan that would guarantee a jail sentence... if he was caught. Dar'oshiir was very, _very_ determined to not get caught. So determined that he had planned every last detail of the theft – where he was going to step, when he was going to breathe, exactly how many seconds it would take to open each door. A little overboard, maybe, but if it worked...

The plan started at the docks. He had arranged an agreement with an Argonian working there. She would distract the guards, drawing them away from the stone walls. As soon as they left their posts, he'd scale the wall – thank the Divines for his claws. Anyone walking up the stairs would be spotted a little too soon for a thief's liking. Besides, it wouldn't be that hard to reach the Jarl's palace by rooftop.

He waited just out of sight of the docks for the Argonian's signal, shivering in the cold, despite his fur. Any minute now... He just had to wait. Pricking up his ears, he listened.

"Guards! Guards! Help! I'm drowning!"

Dar'oshiir couldn't help but scowl in frustration. He gave her free reign over her distraction – the only thing he'd left for chance – and all she could come up with was this? Horrible. But, as he peered around the corner, he saw that it had worked – the guards had left their posts to investigate the commotion. Now was his chance. He reached up, digging his claws into a gap between the stones. He started climbing, higher and higher, until he reached the top. Just in time, too – the guards were returning, the Argonian evidently saved, and they kept their eyes on the sky.

Now, all the Khajiit had to do was break into the Palace of the Kings. He ran the expanse of the wall, stopping when he reached his destination. With practised ease, he vaulted off the wall and onto the roof. He walked across it silently, before stealthily dropping into the courtyard. The guards were on the other side, taking no notice of him. He didn't wait around to see if they did. He slipped into the palace, the doors closing behind him without a sound.

Immediately upon entering, he dashed to the side, safe in the blanket of darkness. Success was only a few metres away now – he just needed to run out, grab his goods and leave before anyone noticed a thing. If his calculations were right, the Jarl should be in bed and the guards halfway to the barracks, with replacements only a few blocks away. He had to be fast. He leapt out from the shadows and-

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne, his eyes scanning the scroll he held.

Damn the Divines! He was supposed to be asleep. Dar'oshiir quickly returned to his dark refuge. At least there were no guards. He still had thirty, maybe forty seconds before replacements showed up. And he had only five seconds to decide if he was going to continue the theft – with Ulfric there! – or escape. It wasn't a choice, really. He hadn't come all this way for nothing.

In a moment of courage, he sprinted out of the darkness and grabbed something off of the table. Without a backwards glance, he ran towards the doors.

"Guards! Thief!" the Jarl cried out behind him.

Dar'oshiir burst through the doors and kept on running, making no effort to conceal the noise. No doubt the guards had already heard Ulfric's shouts – he had no time to scale the walls. Instead, he ran straight past two guards that stood at the ready, weapons poised. He heard their battle cries as they gave chase.

Down the steps, through the town, past a group of confused guards – the replacements – who quickly joined the chase, past Candlehearth Hall and out the-

He felt excruciating pain burst from his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw an arrow shaft sticking out of his flesh. With an agonising moan, he continued out the door, pushing it open with his good arm. Once outside, he ran even faster than before, ignoring the searing pain from his shoulder. Eventually, the shouts of the guards faded, and he leant back against a tree, catching his breath.

Was it worth it? The pain, the improvised escape, the months spent planning? Had it all been worth it?

Yes. For when he opened his hand, he still had his prize.

A sweetroll.


End file.
